Best Little Witch-House in Arkham

by Mark McLaughlin

  Winston shook his hand. “Right now I’m picking up some really good vibes. Oh yeah.”

  Finally the young New Englander turned his attention to Frizzy and Hound-Dog McGee. “Well, you don’t have any equipment set up yet, so I don’t suppose you’ve had time to gather any information. But what about you, Hound-Dog? Smell any danger?”

  “No,” the dog said, “but would it be okay if I sniffed your rear end, and perhaps your crotch, too? I don’t have to do it right now, but I would like to get around to it eventually, since we’ve just met and that’s how us dogs get to know strangers.”

  Jake gestured toward his hips. “Do it right now if you wish. I should smell pretty good. I’ve had my morning shower.”

  Hound-Dog McGee began sniffing, savoring the young man’s warm, slightly spicy natural aromas.

  “Lucky dog,” Winston whispered to himself.

  * * * *

  That night, Hound-Dog McGee had a dream.

  Jake Whateley had given him a bedroom that looked out over the town of Dunwich. It was a brooding, mysterious town, filled with low, dark buildings, cobbled streets, and neon-lit adult bookstores.

  Before retiring, he had enjoyed a bowl of scraps mixed with dog food, so that might be what gave him such an awful, vivid nightmare. Minutes after his furry head hit the pillow, bizarre visions filled his animal brain. He dreamed of rats with the faces of old men, and giant worms that walked around with human masks. Winged fungal beings soared between the stars, and tentacle-bearded monstrosities slumbered in giant temples on the ocean floor. Then a deep, booming voice intoned an unspeakable couplet:

  That is not dead which can make people sick,

  And with strange aeons, dogs may have a lick.

  Then he awoke, and found that his legs were twitching like crazy. When at last he went back to sleep, he had a perfectly normal dream about chasing a bunny through a tunnel. At some point, the bunny turned into a tree and he peed on it. Then he remembered that he had to take a test, but he hadn’t studied for it. Fortunately, the classroom was filled with big, juicy bones, and he gnawed on them as angels sang about the price of a doggy in a window.

  * * * *

  Meanwhile, in the room next door, Louise Slapowski was also having a dream. Her usual dream.

  In it, Leonardo DiCaprio was wearing a black rubber suit covered with silver zippers, and he was dancing. Dancing to that old disco song about a cake being left out in the rain. And he was saying, “Solve the mystery, Louise. Come on, you can do it. Just search my pockets. You’ll find lots of clues along the way. Do it, girl. Do it.”

  And so she jumped out on the dance floor and unzipped the first zipper—the one that ran along his left shoulder. She then reached into the pocket and pulled out a hot dog.

  “Pretty good,” Leonardo said. “Keep searching.”

  She then tried a zipper on his right bicep, and found a big, juicy bratwurst.

  “Try lower down,” the movie star whispered. “Much lower.”

  She tried a zipper on his calf and found a firm, exceptionally long zucchini.

  “A little too low,” Leonardo whispered. “Try again.”

  By this time, Louise’s heart was beating like a conga drum. She reached out for that special zipper, the one that she knew held a wonderful mystery just for her, and—

  Here her usual dream changed into something very unusual. All the zippers flew open and writhing tentacles emerged. These sinuous appendages wrapped around her limbs, and Leonardo began to laugh with insane glee.

  “You wanted to stay in the Dunwich Arms. Well, how do these arms suit you, Louise?”

  Louise woke with a start and sat up in bed. She looked up and wondered if she was still asleep and dreaming, because there in the air above her hovered a dim, translucent apparition—a writhing mass of tentacles and eyes and, and…

  There was more to see, but before she could make out any details, the spectre began to fade away, until at last it was gone.

  She thought for a moment. What was it she had just seen? Was it the ghostly presence that haunted the bed & breakfast, or just a waking carry-over from the nightmare? Certainly her research on the bed & breakfast might have influenced the content of her dream.

  Finally she decided not to tell anyone about what she’d seen—at least, not yet. To do so might taint the objectivity of the others.

  She then went back to sleep and dreamed that Dorothy and the Scarecrow were flying around Oz on the Witch’s sturdy broom.

  * * * *

  For the next two days, the Ghostpuncher Gang tested and calibrated every imaginable property of the house. They studied blueprints and searched the halls and all the rooms for secret passageways. Jake was disappointed that the usually mega-obtrusive spectral presence that haunted the Dunwich Arms was now being inexplicably bashful.

  Jake had told his cook to take some time off while the Gang looked over the place, and so he had to wait on them by himself. One morning, Winston lingered at the breakfast table after the rest of the Gang had left.

  The young innkeeper sat down across from Winston. “You guys must think I’m making this whole thing up. I can’t understand why the creature hasn’t shown up yet.”

  Winston gave him a coy smile. “Oh, I don’t mind. I find this whole New England gig totally charming. And you’ve been such a marvelous host. I wish there was some way to show you my appreciation…”

  “Well, I am paying the Ghostpuncher Gang, but your rates are extremely reasonable—you are certainly worth much more. And I am extremely grateful for all your time and attention. Why, I’m the one who should be showing the appreciation around here! Is there anything I can do for you? Just name it. Say what you want and I’ll do it. No questions asked. My reply will be an automatic, enthusiastic ‘Yes!’”

  Winston mopped at his brow with his scarf. “My goodness…”

  “Just say the word!” Jake said. “Anything at all!”

  “Well, hold on a second. Let me think…”

  “No need to be shy! Come now, you must have something in mind!”

  “Now that you mention it—”

  Suddenly Louise came running into the room. “Jake! Winston! Frizzy’s equipment is registering something. It happened only a few seconds ago. Winston, you’re all sweaty again. Maybe you should see a doctor.”

  She led the two men into the large sitting room, where Frizzy, Monique and Hound-Dog were standing around a large metal console with numerous dials, a control panel and a monitor.

  “It’s the strangest thing,” the hippy science expert said. “No more than a minute or so ago, I was getting strong energy readings. They seemed to be coming from below ground level—the basement, perhaps, or even lower. Is there anything below the basement that you’re aware of, Jake? A tunnel? A cave?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” the New Englander said, “but then, maybe it’s something I don’t know about.”

  “I’m wondering what triggered those high energy levels,” Hound-Dog said.

  “Perhaps strong emotion,” Monique said. “Anger or fear or even lust can set off paranormal activities.”

  “Winston, you looked pretty flushed when I entered the dining area,” Louise said. “Where you in the grip of some strong emotion?”

  “In a way. Jake had some kind words to say to me, and I was feeling—appreciated.” He nodded vigorously. “Yes, I was overwhelmed by feelings of appreciation.”

  “Interesting. How very, very interesting. Now that I’ve heard that,” Louise said, “I think it’s time to tell you all about a dream I had on our first night here. I was very excited in the dream, and that may be what caused me to see…what I saw.” She then described her dream, but instead of Leonardo DiCaprio dancing, she made the focus of the dream an attack by a sea monster, because—Well, they’d just make fun otherwise.

  Hound-Dog thought about sharing his dream with the others, but then decided against it. He still wanted to think more about the special significance of that mystic coup
let…

  “We should check out the basement again,” Louise continued. “We’ve gone over it once already, but there must be something we missed. And we must all keep our emotions in check while we are down there, so we don’t disturb some potentially dangerous force.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jake said. “Winston, I’ll try not to make you feel appreciated while we’re down there.”

  Winston sighed. “Whatever.”

  * * * *

  Jake and the Ghostpuncher Gang searched the basement carefully, sorting through dusty antiques, leather-bound books, and dozens of huge jars. Some jars held herbs and nails and other common items, while others held disturbing biological specimens pickled in brine.

  “Look at this,” Louise said. “This jar is filled with flaming red, three-lobed eyes—what animal do you suppose they came from?”

  “This one has some rotten old vegetables in it,” Frizzy said. “They seem to be glowing a color I’ve never seen before. It’s certainly not a color from Earth.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Winston said. “So where did the color come from? Out of space, perhaps?” He looked into the jar. “That’s puce. Yes, definitely puce.”

  Monique circled around the granite altar in the center of the basement. “I have a sneaking suspicion that this has something to do with those energy levels.”

  “Now that you mention it,” Hound-Dog said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a basement with an altar in it before. I’d better give it a good sniffing.”

  He lowered his nose to the surface of the altar and sniffed every square inch. “I think people used to get killed on this thing. There’s a faint but definite whiff of murder here—but nothing recent. This dip in the stone here is probably where they put sacrificial hearts, and maybe some other chopped-off bits, too.”

  “Sniff around the bottom. That’s what you’re good at!” Frizzy said.

  “Oh, look who’s starting a career in comedy. Okay, Mr. Funnyman, I’ll sniff the base of this thing. I bet it’ll smell better than your—” Suddenly Hound-Dog recoiled. “Hey, there’s a little stinky air coming out of a crack down here.”

  Louise lit up a clove cigarette. Then she had an idea, and put the cigarette near the crack indicated by Hound-Dog. The smoke was blown away from the base. “He’s right. So there’s definitely a lower level. But how are we going to raise this altar?”

  “Maybe the altar is part of a secret passageway,” Winston said. “There must be some hidden way to open it up. Try pressing stones in the walls.”

  Frizzy examined the surface of the altar. “Where’s that dip in the stone you were talking about, Hound-Dog? I don’t see it.”

  The dog touched a circular depression in the granite. “Here.”

  The hippy shook his head. “There’s nothing there.”

  “Are you blind?” the dog said, exasperated. “Should I give you a white cane and start leading you around? Look here. Right here.” So saying, he pounded the indicated spot with a forepaw. The depression sank a half-inch with a loud click. Then the entire altar began to slowly tilt back, revealing an opening in the basement floor.

  “Hound-Dog, you did it!” Louise said. “Let’s get geared up for an exploration!”

  * * * *

  Later, flashlights in hand, they descended the stone steps beneath the altar. Winston said to Jake, “You know, I bet this supernatural presence is probably your twin brother. I bet he didn’t die at birth. That was probably just a cover-up.”

  “Hmmm…” Jake thought about this possibility. “That’s an interesting thought. But would he still be human, or some kind of ghost or zombie?”

  “Your mother and grandfather used to engage in strange worship,” Monique said. “Maybe your dad was one of those alien devil-gods. Maybe you’re the more human sibling, and your brother looks more like your dad.”

  “Oh, that kind of stuff could never happen in Dunwich,” Jake said. “I mean, sure, everybody around here worships weird demons, and sometimes folks are arrested for cannibalism, but still, what you’re talking about is just too…sci-fi.”

  “It does sound a little farfetched,” said the talking dog with eyebrows.

  Finally they arrived in an enormous cave filled with huge mounds of bones. The canine eyed these delicacies rapturously.

  “Now Hound-Dog, don’t get any ideas,” Louise said. “These are human bones, and chewing on them would be bad. Besides, they all look pretty old, so the marrow would be dried out anyway.”

  “So where’s the monster?” Frizzy said. He opened a packet he’d taken from the Spookster Express when they’d geared up for their descent. “I have a bunch of tranquilizer darts here, and a dandy blow-gun, too. I sure hope it’s a real monster this time. I’m so tired of dealing with old men in rubber masks.”

  “Now that we’re ready for him, how are we going to make the creature appear?” Winston said. “Maybe Jake should show me some more appreciation…”

  The bones suddenly reminded Hound-Dog of his dream, and that brought to mind the seemingly inexplicable couplet:

  That is not dead which can make people sick,

  And with strange aeons, dogs may have a lick.

  “You say strong emotions will bring out the critter?” Hound-Dog asked. “Then I know just what to do: something that will elicit definite reactions from all of you…”

  “You don’t mean—? No! Don’t do it!” Monique hissed.

  “Lord, not again!” Louise moaned.

  “Yes, indeed. I’m going to lick myself!” the dog cried. And with that, he got to work.

  “Oh my God!” Jake shouted.

  “You’re freaking me out!” Frizzy said.

  “Lucky dog,” Winston whispered, dabbing at his face wildly with his sopping scarf.

  “Oh, you poor humans,” Hound-Dog said between licks. “What a pity you can’t do yourselves this delightful favor! It is fantastic! It is marvelous! It is, quite simply, bliss!”

  Suddenly the cavern grew much warmer, until it was as hot as a tropical island. Blasts of wind swirled the bones through the air. Jake and the Ghostpuncher Gang dropped to the floor and covered their heads.

  Then a sound like hot tar speaking—a bubbling, blubbering torrent of lunatic words—echoed through the cavern. And those words were these: “At last I am strong enough! I now have the power to fully materialize! I am coming, father! Yog-Sothoth! Yog-Sothoth! YOG-SOTHOTH!”

  A misty, misshapen form began to take shape in mid-air, gaining more and more definition and density until at last it became a solid entity. Jake and the Gang looked up in terror at the hideous being. It had dozens of long, fleshy, sucker-lined tentacles, covered with bulging veins. Blue eyes weaved back and forth on the ends of fleshy stalks. Numerous mouths puckered their full, red lips. A half-dozen massive breasts swayed and jiggled, slapping lewdly against the tentacles.

  Clearly Jake didn’t have a brother.

  He had a sister.

  With a squeal of delight, the she-monster stormed out of the cavern, grabbing a souvenir on the way out.

  * * * *

  “Because your sister had a lot more alien devil-god in her than you,” Louise said, “she had difficulty materializing on this plane. She needed a great deal of emotional energy to fuel her full corporealization.”

  “So that’s why she only appeared as a spectre,” Jake said.

  “Yes—and then, probably only after a couple of your guests had argued, or made love,” she explained.

  Jake was walking with the Ghostpuncher Gang through the ruins of Dunwich, under a clear night sky. After his sister had fled the cavern, she’ll bopped into town to do a little celebratory rampaging.

  “So when Hound-Dog started licking himself,” Monique said, “that created strong psychic waves of feelings—mostly disgust. Our combined emotions were enough to give your sister the power she needed.”

  “I am nothing if not helpful,” Hound-Dog said.

  “It’s a pity Dunwich is destroyed,”
Jake said.

  Frizzy patted him on the back. “You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.”

  Louise lit a fresh clove cigarette. “I must say, your sister is a real go-getter. She was quick to snatch up Winston on the way out.”

  “She was pretty gentle with him,” Jake said. “Did you notice how she lovingly held him out of harm’s way as she destroyed the town?”

  Louise looked up at the stars. “And now she’s taken him to another dimension…Do you think they’ll be happy together?”

  Hound-Dog and Frizzy both rolled their eyes. Then the talking canine said, “Oh, I suppose anything’s possible.”

  No Promotion for Pitt

  “You are very late,” Cord said, glancing up from his monitor. A puzzled expression crossed his round, bland face. “Oh. You have hurt your forehead. Are you all right, Pitt?”

  Pitt put a hand to the bandage on his white forehead. “A rock hit me as I was leaving my lifespace. I am going to see a doctor about it later.”

  Cord blinked. “You should go now. Why wait?”

  “I like the young doctor on the afternoon shift. He tells amusing stories as he performs his examinations.”

  “Really?” Cord was not sure if that sort of behavior could be considered professional. Perhaps it put the patient at ease…“Did someone throw the rock at you?”

  “There was no one in sight,” Pitt said, taking his place at his control panel. “The rock was very small. It still hurts, though. I think a small bit of it is caught under the skin.”

  “I hope the discomfort does not interfere with your work.” Cord watched briefly as Pitt pasted sensors onto his temples. He then returned his full attention to his monitor. Earlier he had envisioned an overhead view of the proposed 138kh lifespace plan onto the screen. Very nice—but the placement of the lighting fixtures in relation to the windows was slightly amiss.

  After correcting the problem, he saved the file back into d8055, the main data nexus. A large d8055 processing column filled the entire other end of the station Cord and Pitt shared. This column was one of three-hundred and twenty in their work precinct.